


Thousand Shades of Red (Destiel)

by thegirlwholikestowrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Bathtubs, Blood, Castiel Angst, Cutting, Dean Angst, Heavy Angst, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Razors, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Suicidal Castiel, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwholikestowrite/pseuds/thegirlwholikestowrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel plans his own death.<br/>He succeeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thousand Shades of Red (Destiel)

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry, back with some angst.
> 
>  
> 
> GUYS   
> MAJOR  
> TRİGGER WARNİNG  
> İF YOU WİLL BE TRİGGERED PLEASE DONT READ THİS.  
> PLEASE

My name is Castiel Novak, I don’t know how I ended up here, inside the white porcelain bath tub, the cold tiles pressing my back. It was cold, too cold. And I almost leaped out of the tub, ran back to the casual safety of my room. But I didn’t. I almost failed again.   
My name is Castiel Novak. I have so many thoughts rushing inside my head and I can’t silence them. I feel like falling and I have to remind myself every five seconds why I am here, why I am doing what I am doing. For Dean.  
I am doing this so that he doesn’t have to come home to a broken Castiel again, I am doing this so that he doesn’t have to pick up my shattered pieces and help me shower and tuck me in and tell me he loves me. I am doing this to save him from the tedious effort of loving me.   
I am trying too damn hard to hold on to him, to the man I love, to the man who saved me from myself, who took my hand when no one else bothered to, who loved me despite the fact I was just another person, living in another town, having another ordinary life. I am trying too.   
I never was a normal person, never had been. And I probably never will. I will never be the guy Dean deserves, never be the guy who can get through his problems without having to leave crimson puddles wherever he goes, never be the guy who can make Dean happy.  
I exhaust him. Having to worry about me every damn minute exhausts him. And it’s clear as hell, his sunken eyes looking at me with the warm, beautiful shade of green, his worn smile, his shaky touch.  
I want to assure him, I want to tell him I will be okay and I will not decide to paint my arms thousand shades of red. But I don’t have it in me. It’s just a vicious cycle, and I never can take a step forward. I started off as a fucked up mess, and somehow I am deeper down in what scares me.   
I am scared.  
I won’t tell you that I am not. I am not very good at lying. I am not good at most things. I fail and I break and I hurt and I cry. And I stopped believing in my happy ending a long time ago.   
I know what I am about to do is going to devastate Dean, unlike any other pain imaginable, this one will break him completely. But me staying by his side is not very much different from me being gone.   
It doesn’t really matter.  
He will grieve for a couple of weeks, and then I will only be a faded scar. Only mark I have left in this world will be a painful reminder for Dean.  
I don’t really matter.  
What matters is that I am not taking any risks this time. I won’t do it horizontally, that has an easy fix. Some thread and a needle, you are back in hell. I won’t hesitate to empty the entire bottle. Because it was also an easy fix, they would plug me up in some messed up machine and I would be back where I had started.  
If I failed again, I would be forced to see Dean’s broken self. I would be forced to be in love with him all over again and it would take me months to gather up the courage to try again. And maybe fail again  
I am a selfless nobody with shadow’s lurking inside of me. I am a nobody and I don’t matter, I say to myself as I dragged Dean’s razor right along my wrist, all the way up to my elbow. I watch the blood drip. It doesn’t even sting.  
I used to feel a lot of pain, where I wouldn’t be able to hold it down for long and I would cry into Dean’s greenish brown shirt that I hated. My whole body used to ache for days, now I just feel numb.   
I don’t feel the pain while the cold metal pierces my skin.  
I don’t feel remorse or grief or pain or sadness.  
I feel numb. What I was aiming for.  
My thoughts blur and I hear the chatter of metal hitting the white tile, now stained with my blood, with my demons, with my scars.  
I don’t deserve to die in peace. I don’t deserve to feel Dean’s breath on my cheek as I sleep. I don’t deserve to see him come home with a smile on his face and always something for me in his hands. I don’t deserve to be loved at all. I don’t deserve anything good. Let alone Dean.  
It gets dark, my vision blackens. I feel the pain shoot through my spine, then rush to my temples.   
Death is contenting.   
Dean will be home soon, a part of me says. Dean will be home and will find me, half naked, soaked in blood and heart stopped.   
Dean will find me dead.  
I look down at myself one last time, look at my cuts, bruises I made, burns. They are all battles I fought with myself. All battles I have lost.   
Look at me now, I am losing again.  
I don’t want to lose.  
I don’t want to fail.  
I don’t want to die.  
I don’t want to die like this.  
I don’t want to be myself.  
I don’t want to be me.  
Not many people understand, how much self-loathing and hatred it takes to drag a blade over their own skin and make it bleed. But then again, my thoughts have destroyed me more than those sharp blades ever did.  
I am a living monster.   
And monsters are meant to die alone.  
I am young and I am hopeless. I don’t know where I am going and I have fallen. And I don’t care anymore. I want it to end.  
It kept bleeding and the blood puddled under my feet. Blood. It was the undeniable proof that I was alive and living.   
That’s why I was draining myself from it.  
I dragged the razor over the same cut again. It felt horrible. But then again, I was horrible.  
I let it drip.   
I watched as it did.  
It hurt. And my eyes felt heavy and I was weak.  
At the same time, I felt powerful. It was a choice given me, maybe for the first time in my life. Live or die. And if I did, I would be beating God in his own game.  
So I let go.


End file.
